That unlit cigarette burned into my memory, snapshotted in a single, wide-eyed moment. It was the beginning of everything, every image that came after, the sentence that pulls you into the story before you know what’s happening, burning like drowning, your lungs can’t find air but like gravity, they don’t seem to need it.
The thunder crashes through my chest, and mud sticks to my hands and the bottom of my shoes, weighs me down as I move toward you, with your hair sticking out from underneath your baseball cap.
My name on your lips is lightning; it slices the sky open.
So, my cat Owen is something of an escape artist. Half the time we open the door, he tries to make a break for it. Eventually, my parents gave in and bought him some proper flea/bug/outside danger medication and I bought him a cat harness and leash. So now I take him on little walks and he enjoys them very much.